80. CHANCE

“It always looks awful until you get the blood washed off.” I say. “Then it’s like ‘what was I worried about?’”

Sara shakes her head. “Easy for you to say: you’re a combat veteran. I’m not used to seeing wounds close up.”

I point to the screen of the heart monitor hooked up to my chest, showing a nice, steady blip.

“See? Even the machine says I’m fine.”

“Two .45-caliber slugs clipped you,” she says in a lecturing tone. “The one in the shoulder could have hit your lung. The one in your ribs could have hit your heart and your lung.”

“Yeah,” I grin. “But they didn’t.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re still the cocky little shit you were in high school, you know that?”

“I think you’ve got a crush on me.”

“I’ve got a crush on your money, Bruce Wayne,” she giggles. “Keep getting yourself shot and I’ll be able to cash in and find a nice, normal husband.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got that kind of money,” I say. “These private hospital suites don’t come cheap.”

From the doorway I hear: “Actually, Uncle Sam will pick up the bill for this one. It’s the least we can do.”

I look over to see Johnston leaning against the door frame with a crooked grin. He’s changed out of the blue suit and into golf chic.

Sara nods. “Agent.”

“Ma’am,” he says. “How’s our boy?”

“I’ll live,” I say. “The real question is how is Pearce?”

He closes the door behind him carefully and strolls into the room, taking a seat next to Sara beside my bed.

“Mr. P is currently under sedation and suicide watch at a secure facility.”

“What’s going to happen to him from there?” Sara asks.

“Well, assuming he’s cooperative when he finally comes back to reality, we’ll have to set up a believable story, since he’s a something of a public figure. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he’ll have a religious experience, give his personal fortune to charity, and then move to Thailand, where he can rest assured that someone will have a laser sight pointed at his head for the rest of his life.”

Sara frowns. “So no jail time?”

“That’s not how this stuff works,” I say. “His silence is a free pass for him. If he goes to jail, he’ll talk. That’s not in anyone’s best interests.”

She kisses my forehead. “So he gets away with almost killing the man I love.”

“And the woman I love. We’re just going to have to live with it.”

“I’d tell you two to get a room,” Johnston smirks. “But you’ve already got one.”

Sara finally smiles for the first time since he got here.

“What about Tony Arturo and his nephew?” she asks.

Johnston’s grin widens.

“Keep an eye on the news for their names,” he says. “That’s all I’m going to say.”

He might as well have said watch the obituaries. I don’t know how I feel about that, but it’s not my place to judge these guys.

“Here’s the big question,” I say. “What about Atlas?”

“What about it?” he shrugs. “The sale is dead. As soon as you stop getting yourself shot, you should go back to work.”

“And nothing changes?”

“Why would it? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

This is too simple. I haven’t had an opportunity to talk to Tre about it yet – I still can’t believe he managed to liaise with these guys for so long right under my nose – but it seems a little too good to be true.

“No consequences, then? Sully and I stole millions.”

Johnston cocks an eyebrow. “From whom? If the answer isn’t the American people, my superiors don’t give a shit. Besides, I think we both know that if the Company had gotten its hands on that money, it would have disappeared into some shitshow that failed miserably and ended up being argued over by a Senate oversight committee.

“Instead, we got a shining example of compassion and resourcefulness. You can’t buy that kind of good PR.”

Sara smiles and squeezes my hand.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think things were going to be okay,” she says.

Johnston stands up and extends his hand. I take it and we shake.

“That’s beyond my ability to guarantee,” he says. “All I can say is you won’t have any trouble from us.”

He shakes Sara’s hand and heads for the door.

“One last thing,” he says, stopping in the doorway.

“What’s that?” asks Sara.

“Mazel tov on your wedding.”

He drops a wink and walks out.